Thursday, 28 May 2009

Five Minutes after the Air Raid by Miroslav Holub

Here is the fourth poem in the mini-series of new translations. As previously stated the translations are taken from German translations of the original Czech and subsequently translated here into English.

Five Minutes after the Air Raid

In Pilsen,Bahnhofstraße 26,she climbed to the third floor,up the stairs, all that remainedof the whole house,opened the door,that led into the sky,stared over the abyss.

Because here the world ended.

Then she closed it firmlyso that neither Sirius or Aldebaran could call her from the kitchen,descended the stairsand took her place,to wait for the house to grow backand her husband to come home from the ashesand the children's legs to be stuck back on.

In the morning they found herturned to stone.Sparrows pecked from her hands.

That is such a sad, moving poem - it could only have been written (in its original) by someone who had experienced war at first hand, I would have thought. Maybe I have inadvertently touched on the essence of all poetry - it has to come from the heart - from experience. Would you agree?